Outside, the comet hung in the darkening sky. Harry found himself staring at it, feeling oddly energized by how well the conversation had gone. He'd handled that better than he usually managed with adults.
"Remarkable sight," Slughorn commented, following Harry's gaze. "The Ministry's quite puzzled. It doesn't appear in any astronomical charts."
"It's beautiful though," Harry said, then paused. When had he started describing things as beautiful?
"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured, still watching Harry carefully. "Until next week then, Horace."
"Yes, yes. And young Potter - thank you. You've reminded me why I became a teacher. I look forward to having you in my class."
As Slughorn headed back inside, Dumbledore offered Harry his arm again.
The Apparition felt smoother this time, less disorienting. When they appeared outside the Burrow, Harry felt genuine happiness at the sight of the crooked house with its warm, spilling light.
"Harry," Dumbledore said quietly, "might I have a word?"
Harry turned, noting something serious in the headmaster's tone. "Of course."
"You handled Professor Slughorn very well. Very persuasively."
Harry felt pleased by the praise. "He seemed like he wanted to be convinced. Just needed someone to remind him why teaching mattered."
"Quite so," Dumbledore said, studying Harry intently. "I'm curious - where did that approach come from? The appeal to his better nature, the connection to your mother?"
Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know. It just felt right. Like I knew what he needed to hear."
"And how did that feel? Knowing what he needed to hear?"
"Good," Harry admitted. "Really good, actually."
Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Power is a curious thing, Harry. Even the power to persuade can be intoxicating."
"I wasn't trying to manipulate him," Harry said quickly, though something in his stomach twisted.
"Of course not. But I wonder - have you noticed any other changes recently? In yourself?"
Harry thought of the dreams, how conversations seemed easier lately, the way he'd been feeling while watching the comet. "Maybe small things."
"Small changes often become large ones," Dumbledore said gently. "I only ask that you remember - who we become is always a choice. Every decision shapes us."
"I understand."
"Do you?" Dumbledore's eyes were kind but searching. "I hope so. Because I suspect you'll face some difficult choices this year."
Before Harry could ask what he meant, the front door burst open.
"Harry dear!" Mrs. Weasley cried, sweeping him into one of her bone-crushing hugs.
This time, Harry found himself settling into the embrace more completely, savoring the warmth and affection. When had he become so hungry for this kind of connection?
"We've missed you terribly," Mrs. Weasley said, holding him at arm's length to look him over. "You look well. More grown up."
"I've missed you too," Harry replied, meaning it more than usual.
"I'm afraid I must be going," Dumbledore said with a warm smile. "Business to attend to." With a soft pop, he was gone.
"Come in, come in!" Mrs. Weasley ushered Harry inside. As she moved ahead of him, Harry couldn't help noticing how her robes clung to her full figure. The thought brought heat to his cheeks.
"Ron! Ginny! Hermione!" she called. "Harry's here!"
Footsteps thundered down the stairs. Ginny appeared first, and Harry felt something shift in his chest. The summer had been kind to her, she moved with new confidence, and her auburn hair caught the evening light. Her petite body had grown a bit curvier over the summer and the freckles that dotted her face made her look like a dream come true.
"Hi, Harry," she said, stepping close to hug him. The embrace lasted longer than it needed to, and they both seemed aware of it.
"Ginny," he managed, surprised by how her name sounded on his lips.
She pulled back with a small smile. "You look good."
"So do you," Harry replied, meaning it completely.
Hermione appeared next, throwing her arms around him enthusiastically. "Harry! You look different. More confident somehow."
"Do I?"
"Definitely," Ginny said quietly, still watching him.
"Course he does," Ron said, grinning as he reached them. "Probably all that brooding at the Dursleys. Good to see you, mate."
As they moved toward the kitchen, Ginny fell into step beside him.
"I'm glad you're here," she said softly.
"Me too," Harry replied.
Through the kitchen window, the red comet pulsed against the darkening sky.
Dinner was comfortable and warm, with Harry naturally drawing the conversation along, making everyone laugh with stories about the Dursleys' attempts to appear normal to the neighbors. He found himself watching how the others responded - Mrs. Weasley's delighted chuckles, Ginny's bright smile, the way even Mr. Weasley seemed to hang on his words more than usual.
"You're quite the storyteller tonight, Harry," Mr. Weasley observed with a chuckle.
"Good company brings it out in me," Harry replied, glancing at Ginny, who flushed prettily.
As the evening wound down and they headed upstairs, Harry felt oddly restless. The warmth of the evening lingered - Ginny's smiles, the easy conversation, the way everyone had responded to him.
Ron fell asleep quickly, snoring softly within minutes. Harry lay back, staring at the ceiling, feeling more awake than tired. When sleep finally came, it brought strange dreams.
He stood in Hogwarts, but not as he knew it. The corridors seemed grander somehow, the stone walls warmer. Tapestries hung in rich colors, and the very air seemed to hum with possibility.
Students moved through the halls, but they looked at him differently. With respect, admiration, something approaching awe. When he spoke, they listened intently. When he smiled, they lit up as if he'd given them a gift.
Ginny was there, watching him with bright eyes full of something deeper than friendship. Hermione stood nearby, her usual know-it-all expression replaced by genuine curiosity about what he might say next. Even students from other houses seemed drawn to him.
The feeling was intoxicating - being seen, truly seen, as someone worth listening to. Someone important.
The dream shifted. He was older now, standing in the Great Hall, but he wasn't just another student anymore. He was addressing the school, and every face was turned toward him with rapt attention. They hung on his every word, and when he finished speaking, the applause was thunderous.
"Harry?" The voice was soft, concerned. "Harry, wake up."
His eyes snapped open to find Ginny sitting on the edge of his bed, her hand gently shaking his shoulder. Moonlight filtered through the window, casting her red hair in silver highlights.
"You were talking in your sleep," she said quietly. "You seemed... excited about something."
Harry sat up, still disoriented from the dream. "What was I saying?"
"Just mumbling mostly. But you were smiling." She studied his face in the dim light. "Good dream?"
"Yeah," Harry said, his voice coming out rougher than expected. "strange though."
"Want to talk about it?"
Harry shook his head. How could he explain the feeling of being admired, respected, genuinely important to people? It would sound arrogant.
"Just strange dreams," he said instead.
Ginny nodded, but didn't move to leave. They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, and Harry became acutely aware of her closeness - the warmth radiating from her, the faint scent of her hair.
"Harry?" she said softly.
"Yeah?"
"I'm really glad you're here. It feels... right. Having you here with us."
"It feels right to me too," he admitted.
She smiled, and in the moonlight, she looked almost ethereal. For a moment, Harry thought she might lean closer, but then Ron snorted loudly in his sleep and the moment passed.
"I should let you rest," she whispered, standing.
"Ginny?"
She paused at the door. "Yeah?"
"Thanks. For checking on me."
"Always," she said simply, and slipped back out into the hall.
Harry lay back down, but sleep was a long time coming. Above the Burrow, the red comet continued its slow arc across the sky, and Harry found himself thinking about dreams and the way Ginny's eyes had looked in the moonlight.
When he finally drifted off, his dreams were filled with crimson light and the intoxicating feeling of being exactly where he was meant to be.